A Dream of Desire (6 page)

“I ain’t going to live on a damned farm.” Peter pushed his arms into the sleeves of his coat.

“Where are you going to go, then?” Alice’s heart clenched like a fist as she thought of him back among the denizens of London’s slums. He didn’t belong there. He never had. And she hated the thought that her brother believed that he
did
.

Thank heavens for Lady Talia Hall, at least. She’d come to Alice after Peter was arrested, offering her assistance. She’d explained about her work with the ragged schools and the founding of the Brick Street reformatory school, which sounded to Alice like a much better place for Peter than Newhall prison, no matter what crime he had committed.

Unfortunately, the judge hadn’t agreed. Lady Talia had been a blessing, though, calling upon Alice regularly, arranging for letters to be delivered to Newhall by courier, keeping Alice informed of the progress of Brick Street and the possibility of Peter attending upon his release.

“Peter helped me,” Lady Talia had told Alice. “I’d like to do the same for him and you.”

Alice had even begun to consider the other woman a friend, even if she was the daughter of an earl. And it was comforting to have someone to talk to about Peter’s situation, especially since Papa wanted so little to do with it.

“Peter, please.” Alice tried to grab her brother’s sleeve, but he evaded her grasp.

Peter smashed his hat onto his head and stalked out the door. Alice knew nothing she said or did would stop him.

She pressed her hands to her face and tried to stanch the inevitable tears. Guilt and dismay rolled through her in an overwhelming wave. The tears spilled over, and she choked back a sob. She couldn’t bear to imagine how horrified her mother would be to learn that her only son had been branded a murderer.

H
e’s back.

The thought, which had coursed through Talia’s mind endlessly after seeing James at Lady Bentworth’s ball last night, elicited a combination of both pleasure and apprehension.

How many times during the last twenty years had Talia thought those very words? First when James was away at school, then after he’d gone off traveling with Alexander and Sebastian before Cambridge and his eventual work with the Royal Geographical Society. Not even his father’s death and James’s inheritance of the barony had slowed his desire to explore.

To leave. To run.

Talia shook her head to rid herself of the uncharitable whispers that had plagued her for years, ever since she began seeing James as a man. She had always disliked her nagging suspicion that he was
running
from something, for that implied cowardice. Certainly there was nothing cowardly about battling stormy seas and trekking through crocodile-infested swamps. Talia, after all, had spent a secret part of her life wishing she too could be part of such adventures.

James is back. James is leaving again.
The two thoughts were like a confluence, two rivers inevitably leading to the same point.

Once upon a time Talia would have liked to think:
James is staying
.

She no longer believed such a thought would become truth. With a sigh, she settled back into the chair and opened the book. Across from her, Aunt Sally worked a needle through a piece of cloth.

“‘Camels and California, says the critic,’” Talia read. “‘Two words that are not often used in one breath.’”

“Rather.” Aunt Sally chuckled and snapped off a length of thread. “Didn’t you once ride a camel when your father took you to Egypt?”

Talia nodded. Memories sparked like fireflies—the raucous sound of her brothers’ laughter as they tottered in time with the camels’ odd gait, the sun cascading over the sugar-fine sand, dark-skinned men with wide smiles, her mother watching from beneath a lace-edged parasol.

She gazed unseeing at the latest adventure story sent by her brother Nicholas. Ever since she’d read a copy of James Fenimore Cooper’s
Last of the Mohicans
, Talia had loved the tales of the American wilderness, which were always so fraught with tension and danger. She found some copies in libraries, but over the past few years most of her books came in packages from Nicholas.

Hardly appropriate for the daughter of an earl, Talia thought. Her governesses had schooled her well on all the appropriate literature for a young woman of the peerage—Shakespeare, Petrarch, Dante, poetry—but Talia had been captivated by her brothers’ stores of reading material, especially the
Parley’s Magazine
that came from America and was filled with the most wonderful stories of Persian mountains and strange creatures. And the boys’ books of sports and pastimes that were always showing her brothers how to
do
something—make a kite, construct a kaleidoscope, perform feats of legerdemain.

Talia had spent a great deal of time tagging along after her brothers and trying to do what they did. And when they didn’t let her, or when she couldn’t join them on their adventures because she had music or dancing lessons, then at least she had always enjoyed reading about them.

Even now, Talia read the more recent
Boys’ and Girls’ Magazine and Fireside Companion
, which was filled with stories, poems, and articles about interesting things, like how a magnetic telegraph worked. She brought all the magazines and penny dreadfuls to the Brick Street school for the boys, of course, but not before reading them first. Not before imagining what it would be like to explore the world as one pleased. Just as James did.

“Isn’t it nice that Lord Castleford has returned?” Aunt Sally remarked. “Lady Willingham said he intends to publish his journals before he leaves again. Quite an exciting life the man leads.”

Talia murmured a noncommittal agreement.

“I’ve always found his tales so fascinating,” Aunt Sally continued as she selected a slice of plum cake from the tea tray. “Your uncle was in the Royal Navy before we married, you know, and he always had a longing for the sea.”

“Part of our blood, it seems,” Talia said. Her grandfather had spent much of his life traveling throughout Russia as ambassador to St. Petersburg, and her father had taken the family on many excursions to Europe, Egypt, and Russia. All four of her brothers enjoyed travel, as Talia had until her mother’s abandonment had made the idea of home far more appealing.

Talia had gone to St. Petersburg last fall to visit Alexander and his family, but aside from that one trip, she had remained in London. Compared to her brothers’ lives, hers was dull, but at least she knew what to expect here, and she wasn’t faced with unexpected choices that called her judgment and her very nature into question. At least she could do some good here.

“He cut such a fine figure in his uniform,” Sally remarked with a sigh.

“Uncle Harold?” Talia thought of Sally’s portly, whiskered husband. “Er, I imagine he did.”

“Oh, I know he wasn’t terribly handsome, my dear.” Sally plucked at a loose thread on her needlework frame. “But he carried himself with such dignity, such command, that women were naturally drawn to him. Bless his heart, he only had eyes for me. He said I was Helen to his Paris, though with a much happier ending, of course.”

Talia smiled at the tender, wistful look on her aunt’s face. She remembered Uncle Harold as an affable man who often remarked on his wife’s beauty and goodness.

“You had a good marriage,” she said.

“Heavens, yes. Would that all women were as fortunate in matrimony as I was.” Sally pushed the needle through the cloth again. “Not only did Harold provide well for me, but he also never failed to demonstrate how much he admired and loved me. Both outside and inside the bedchamber.”

“Aunt Sally!” Talia felt a blush crawl over her face.

Her aunt laughed. “Talia, dearest, don’t believe any woman who says what goes on in the bedchamber doesn’t matter. Trust me, it matters a great deal. And the happier a couple is
there
, the happier they are in every other aspect of their lives.”

Talia stared at Sally, suppressing a sudden rush of questions. Certainly her aunt and uncle had always seemed happy and in love, but Talia had never imagined that pleasure in the bedchamber had anything to do with it.

Then again, she remembered vividly how arousal had bloomed through her the instant she’d pressed her lips to James’s. She remembered how their bodies had fit together, how her heart had pounded, how thrilled she’d been when he hauled her into his arms and took possession of her mouth…

Talia dropped her book to her lap and pressed her hands to her cheeks.
God in heaven.
Could the matrimonial bed really be more exciting, more fulfilling, than that?

“And it’s not just the husband who should be satisfied either, though of course Harold always was,” Sally continued in a conversational tone, as if they were discussing the latest fashions from Paris. “When you meet a man you might want to wed, Talia, be certain you find him both physically and intellectually compelling. Ensure that he respects your needs, that you enjoy conversing with him, that he is interesting to you and allows you a degree of freedom. And yes, that he is very attentive to your desires in the bedchamber.”

“I…” Talia swallowed past the tightness in her throat. She fought images of James, fought all the hopes and wishes that had taken root inside her so very long ago. The hopes and wishes that she’d tried hard to bury since that afternoon at Floreston Manor.

“I don’t intend to marry, Aunt Sally,” she managed to say. “I’ve told you that.”

“Yes, well, one is always allowed to change one’s mind.” Sally shrugged and returned her attention to her needlework.

Talia tried to focus on the book again, but the words swam before her eyes. She couldn’t help wondering if that was the reason her mother had left. Had her marriage to Rushton been that desolate? Had her attraction to the young Russian soldier been that powerful? Had he given her all that Aunt Sally described?

Talia shook her head. It didn’t matter, in any case. Even if she did still harbor some fanciful thoughts about marriage to James, she knew they would never come to be.

That knowledge, at least, made it easier to contend with the resurgence of her old feelings. James would never stay in London, never marry, never be the man she wanted him to be. Whatever lingering threads of love and warmth she held for him would forever remain locked inside her heart. And there was a certain comfort in knowing exactly where things stood.

Never mind the hint of sorrow that Talia would never know the type of marriage Aunt Sally described—or, indeed, even the kind of passionate relationship her mother had with the soldier. Talia wondered how many women ever knew that kind of love or pleasure. And the two combined in wedded bliss? Rare as a blue diamond, surely.

Perhaps just as precious, too.

A knock sounded at the half-open door. The footman, Soames, peered in.

“My lady, Lord Castleford has arrived.”

Talia’s heart jumped. “Lord Castleford?”

“I invited him for tea.” Aunt Sally set her needlework frame aside and removed her spectacles. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“No.” Oh, there it all was again, swirling through her like a whirlwind. Anticipation, pleasure, excitement…all echoed in the rush of her pulse, the beat of her heart.

“I wanted to hear about his latest journey, but without all the noise of the ball,” Sally explained. “He’s bringing his journals along with him. I remember how you always enjoyed those.”

“But I’d intended to go out in a half hour.” Talia looked at the clock, trying to quell her riotous emotions. “I’ve some errands to run.”

“Well, fine, you’ll have time for a cup, won’t you? Do send his lordship in, Soames.”

The footman nodded and left, returning a moment later with James. A thousand shivers tingled down Talia’s spine at the sight of James, his lean muscular body clad in a navy morning coat and gray waistcoat, a cravat knotted at his throat. He carried several leather-bound journals beneath his arm, and he set them on a table along with his gloves before turning to greet Sally.

“Good afternoon, James.” Sally’s blue eyes twinkled. “We’re so pleased you could join us.”

“Thank you for the invitation, my lady.”

James moved to Talia and extended both hands clenched into fists. Talia ignored that now-familiar twinge around her heart and reached out to touch his left hand. Her fingers just brushed his knuckles, but the light contact alone caused a shiver to travel clear up her arm. She didn’t look up into his face, afraid of what she might see in his eyes.

And more afraid of what she would certainly not see.

James turned his hand and opened his fist to reveal an empty palm. Talia tapped his right fist. He opened his hand. Nestled in his large palm was a shimmering, brilliant green stone about the size of a robin’s egg.

A gasp of pleasure caught in Talia’s throat. She picked up the stone, struck by how the light shone on the sharp, jagged surfaces, displaying a kaleidoscope of green hues. A gift from him to her, just like he’d always given her
before
.

“Oh, James.” Warmth filled her heart. He hadn’t forgotten how much she loved the treasures he brought back from all parts of the world. “It’s beautiful.”

“Quartz, from one of the New South Wales mines,” James said, a responding pleasure appearing in his eyes and curving his mouth. “Not terribly precious, but the green reminded me of you.”

“Thank you so much.” Talia extended the stone for her aunt to see.

She gathered in a breath, struggling against the thoughts that still came so naturally to her—imagined images of James picking the stone out of a pile of dirt and rocks, thinking of how it matched her eyes, picturing her in his own mind, then tucking the stone into his rucksack and keeping it safe for her all those thousands of miles back to London…

“Lovely, James.” Sally squinted at the stone. “But why did the green remind you of Talia?”

“Oh, er, I…”

Both Talia and Sally looked at him. Talia’s mouth twitched at the sight of the flush cresting on his cheekbones. James Forester was not a man who often blushed.

“Well, my lady, Talia has…” James cleared his throat, his gaze on the carpet. “Her eyes are quite green, are they not?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Sally gave a tittering laugh. “
Green
can also refer to her youth, I suppose.”

Talia threw her aunt a mild glower. Sally had remarked numerous times on Talia’s age rather than her youth, so she knew quite well that James had not been in mind of budding freshness when he found the quartz.

What, exactly, had he been in mind of?

Talia’s heartbeat intensified at the idea that James might have just been thinking of…well,
her
. The way she looked. The color of her hair and eyes. What she might be wearing, the sound of her voice or—

Or perhaps Talia ought to put a stop to such foolish thoughts once and for all.

“In any case, it is very pretty, and thank you for thinking of me, my lord,” she said, plucking the stone from Sally’s hand.

“And now you promised to show me your new pet,” James reminded her.

“New pet?” Sally repeated.

“Wait just a moment.” Clutching the quartz, Talia hurried from the room. She went upstairs to her bedchamber and tucked the stone beneath her pillow, then took a large wooden box, painted blue with white swirls, from her desk and returned to the drawing room.

As she neared the open door, she caught the sound of her aunt’s voice.

“She’s been quite amenable to attending balls and dinner parties this season,” Sally was saying. “I’ve been pleased to see that, though she still dislikes afternoon teas and hasn’t accompanied me on any calls. I heard a rumor Lord Bexley might approach Rushton upon his return to discuss a marriage arrangement.”

Oh, no.
Talia’s heart plummeted. Not another rumor. She tightened her hands on the box, her shoulders tensing as she waited for James to respond to that remark.